Cannon Fodder
by LunaPadma
Summary: Cameron Fodder has no chance of winning the Hunger Games. Nor does Mia Thatcher. And Hannie Arentum? Forget about it. Wattage Myster doesn't even think he'll make it off his platform. Instead of the Games from the winner's perspective, meet the losers.
1. Cameron Fodder

**I don't own the Hunger Games. My name is not Suzanne Collins, and right now I only own Cameron.**

Have you ever heard the phrase 'cannon fodder'? Well, I don't know how it got started, but that definition fits me well.

The definition of 'cannon fodder' is basically those who are going to die first in the Hunger Games. In the whole arena, I am probably going to go die in the Cornucopia bloodbath.

You want to know the funniest thing? My name is Cameron. Cameron Fodder, District 11, at your service.

I hope my death pleases you.

**So? What do you think? Review with things such as other characters and an arena. Thanks!**


	2. Mia Thatcher

District 11's never won. I obviously won't. After all, I'm a short, scrawny, weakling, who's not pretty in any way.

Mi a Thatcher, they'll say. Running off her platform, trying to make it away, when-oh! District Two intercepts her, and-ooh! She's not going to make it! That was deep, and no recovery's going to save her! District Two moves to kill another!

The crowd cheers. I die.

Happy, right?

I am not a pessimist. I am a realist, and when my name was pulled, I knew what would happen. Before I had made it to the platform, I had steeled myself for what would happen.

Death.

I watched silently as a boy named Cameron Fodder joins me on the platform. We shake hands.

"Ready to die?" he asks.

"Since they called my name." I answer.

"Me too."

Glad to know we're on the same page.

We are on the train now. Cameron comes and sits next to me.

"Hey, look." he says, not bothering with an introduction. "We're the cannon fodder here. We're gonna be slaughtered soon. I give us a minute."

"Really? I only gave myself thirty seconds."

Cameron smiles softly. "You know, my name might be Cameron, but I think I should officially change it to Cannon. Cannon Fodder."

Fitting.

"Mia Thatcher doesn't really sound like 'person who while die fast'."

"Maybe it's a sign. Maybe you won't die in the Cornucopia."

"And maybe pigs will start to fly while eating rainbows."

"Touché."

At least someone understands me.


	3. Hannie Arentum

All my life, people have been telling me how 'cute' and 'pretty' and 'beautiful'. How if I was able to eat more, I would be radiant, able to get my pick of any man. That they would save me from the mines.

District 6 is mining. Not coal, but gold and silver and most metals for use in other places.

We are poor. Most do not get enough to eat.

I am in the Hunger Games.

I think we can officially say my life sucks.

I know what's going to happen. I may be pretty, but I'm no dunce.

But I'd like to die without becoming someone else. I mean, if it's the choice between dying and sleeping with a man, well, I'm dying anyway. I'd like to keep my virginity intact.

'But wait!' you think. 'You could win! You have a chance!'

Have you been paying attention at all? I have no chance. And I'm not sacrificing my virginity for nothing.

I hate my life. I hate it. I hate my life, my face. The only thing I don't hate is my family.

I really, really hate my district partner.

He's pompous, stuck-up, and rich. My three least favorite things.

And he's convinced that we're 'a couple'.

Put me out of my misery. Please.

I don't want to die painfully. I have a thing about pain.

Of course, I also have a thing about dying, but that is not the point.

Please, just promise me this:

Don't fall in love with me. Don't like me. Stay away from me.

Please.


	4. Wattage Myster

District 3 sucks.

Pollution's all over, the last scrap of green I saw that wasn't about to be eaten was barf, and I don't actually want to make TVs all day.

Of course, the Hunger Games are worse.

In them, I am guaranteed _not_ to see my fifteenth birthday, which is quite unfortunate, as then I would've been allowed to pick my factory, because I was at the top of my class at school. One of the schools.

There are three schools in District 3. Whoever is the top of their class in their last year gets to pick the factory they'll work at for the rest of their lives. I wanted to work at the transportation factory, one of the most coveted jobs, guaranteed for the richest people. I would've too, until my name was drawn out of an oversized fishbowl and I got entered in a contest I've already lost.

I have a little advice for you-don't waste your money. Go buy yourself a nice meal, and don't try to hep me out and give me supplies.

All you're doing is wasting money on someone who won't make it off his platform. And that's just pointless.

My advice to you is this: Do not, under any circumstances, waste your money on me. Take it and buy yourself a good pair of shoes or something. Just don't spend it on me.

Because there's no point in wastefulness.


	5. Trains

The train ride is one day.

Twenty four hours. 1,440 minutes. 86,400 seconds. Three meals. One sleep.

And then we're there.

And I don't want to be there.

Because being there is being closer to the arena. Closer to the Game. Closer to dying.

And while I'm aware it's going to happen soon, I'm not exactly suicidal.


End file.
